


Snowflake

by GreyWeeknds



Series: 30 days writing challenge [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 14:31:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyWeeknds/pseuds/GreyWeeknds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The glass fragments is spread throughout on the greyish tiled floor, blood is dripping on the walls and it looks a bit hypnotizing to be honest. The red colour is extremely beautiful; he can’t understand how it came from his disgusting body just a few minutes ago. It’s raining outside, he can’t hear anything besides the raindrops that hits like knives on the ground. He wants to look away, but he can’t. It’s too difficult and he’s being weak as always.</p><p>He tries to remember the last time he was truly happy, but he can’t pick up a certain memory of it. His mum says it was before his dad left them, that he took a bit of Harry with him when he abandoned his own son. He guesses she’s right, she knows him far better than he does himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowflake

The glass fragments is spread throughout on the greyish tiled floor, blood is dripping on the walls and it looks a bit hypnotizing to be honest. The red colour is extremely beautiful; he can’t understand how it came from his disgusting body just a few minutes ago. It’s raining outside, he can’t hear anything besides the raindrops that hits like knives on the ground. He wants to look away, but he can’t. It’s too difficult and he’s being weak as always.

He tries to remember the last time he was truly happy, but he can’t pick up a certain memory of it. His mum says it was before his dad left them, that he took a bit of Harry with him when he abandoned his own son. He guesses she’s right, she knows him far better than he does himself.

He feels lost; he’s neither sad nor happy. He tries to figure out how he can divide the two emotions, but he can’t. Because every time he feels a slight bit happy there is sadness that comes with it, and when he feels sad he can’t help himself for laughing over how pathetic he is. He has no real reason to be depressed about, no death that has occurred in his life or a heart that’s been broken. Everything would be so much easier if he could point out one specific scenario in his life that destroyed him, deep down inside. But he can’t, and that makes the ocean down his cheeks increase.

Sometimes he can’t remember stuff; everything just goes blank. It’s not like how it is inside of an old person’s brain, they forget because of their age, he just forget because his mind doesn’t want him to know some things. It began last year, just before he was going to hold a speech for his class. His whole body turned petrified and his head went black, everything outside of his body disappeared and he turned to a stiff statue. Later on he was informed by one of his friends that he had been lying in fetal position and ranted over and over again that he was sorry. What he regretted he couldn’t yet remember.

 _“I miss you.”_ Echoed a light voice somewhere between his ears.

He missed his old self too, he had been beautiful once up on a time. His former green orbs that had glistened prettily against the sunshine were gone, and now there was only ivy left. Ivy that grew branches for branches inside of his body, and with every breath that he took it felt like they were going to break. He wanted to paint the sun and the moon on a canvas and burry it in a drawer in his brain. If he could, then he would forget the reality and the worries. He could just dive down in his dreams that were his hideouts and perhaps there he could finally be happy again. He mimicked the former loveable feelings with the white snowflakes that he inhaled through his nose. They were also beautiful like he had been once; they were mirror reflection of his past.

 _“Love yourself Harry like I love you, it doesn’t hurt to try.”_ The same voice pleaded him.

He had believed the blonde’s words back then, but now he knew that they were all lies. Love was when you couldn’t dream of surviving a day without thinking of the other as your hearts were beating as one. Love was when you knew every freckle that was attached to the other person’s skin without even glancing at its owner’s body. Love was when you shared the raw air before you closed the last space between your craving lips. So it wasn’t love, because the other boy didn’t thought of him anymore, and he didn’t remember the freckles that were waiting for him to be touched. And it couldn’t be love since he hadn’t felt those thin lips against his for ages, so yes; it did hurt to try to love himself when the one who he valued the most didn’t love him back anymore.

He looked angrily down at the floor again, his red eyes were reflecting on the last shininess that was left on the dirty clinkers. He thought about the words from a song he once heard, _‘_ _It's never over, she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever.’_ He’s afraid that it might be the truth, that he will never get over his past and that Niall will always be the ghost who haunts him when he’s awake. He would rather be driven over by a car than be forced to see those blue eyes again, because if he did then he would be lost in them forever.

He takes up an orange bottle from his front pocket; he sprays the snowflakes on the sink before he swiftly draws them inside his nostrils. It hurts a bit before the entire world seems to be painted in beautiful colours in front of his eyes. He reaches out his fingers to grip the boat that’s been slowly swaying in the air, but it’s farer away than he first thought. Unsuccessfully he tries to do it several times before he realizes that it’s all hallucinations, a trick created by his own mind. He last thing that he can remember before he proceeds to an unconsciousness is that he smells a small scent of lemon that’s been filling the whole room, the same as he felt from the long rosy neck that he was once allowed to kiss, but is now forbidden to even touch. His mother finds him the next morning in the bathroom; tear trails glued on his pale cheeks. He’s not in the same world anymore as her when she tries hopelessly to shake his body back to life. Comfortingly she strokes his hand before she takes her slender fingers and closes those green eyes for good. She never wants the blond with the heart that’s pounding loudly in his chest who’s waiting hopefully to forgive her son in the living room to see him; she wants him to remember the once beautiful Harry with the white snowflakes in his curls to remain in his memory. 


End file.
